Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  Indie: I’m not sick anymore, just really tired. You’ll be happy to know that I’m taking the rest of the week off uni to recover.

  Spencer: Good girl. When did you get so sensible over uni?

  I roll my eyes. I’ve always been sensible. Two alcoholic parents make you grow up a lot faster than you should.

  Indie: Make sure you get Jimmy’s autograph for me.

  Spencer: You’re dating an actor now. You’re not allowed to fangirl.

  Indie: You better break up with me then, because I’m going full fangirl when I meet him.

  I picture his laugh, and I smile. My body aches to be with him. I want to curl up next to him in bed and have him hold me. Facing the funeral of my dad alone, alongside Mum’s detox being so heavy, I long for someone to lighten the load. Spencer would do that. He would make it as easy as it possibly could be.

  Spencer: Never. I booked my flight today. I’ll be home in just over two weeks.

  My heart stops. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. How am I going to deal with that? Mum might not be well by then. I’m supposed to be at Spencer’s house for half of Christmas day.

  Indie: Good. I can’t wait.

  Don’t think about that now. It’s one more thing to add to the list.

  “Indie!” Mum shouts.

  Startled, I drop my phone on the table and leap off the chair.

  “Mum, what is it?” I ask, running into the living room.

  Her face is twisted, and she writhes on the sofa. “I can’t take this…”

  I kneel down and place my hand on her shoulder. Her T-shirt is damp, and her skin is cool.

  “Let me call someone, Mum. Please.”

  “I-I don’t want to lose you,” she croaks, looking into my eyes.

  I blink, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “Then do this properly. Please.”

  She looks up at the ceiling. “’Kay.”

  I take in a breath. “All right. I’ll make a call.”

  Standing, I watch her for one minute more before going to retrieve my phone. There’s a rehab centre thirty minutes away. I’ve researched it before. I’ve even called. The only way I could get my parents in there is if there was a court order, or if they volunteered.

  They weren’t going to volunteer.

  I make the call, speaking to the same lady I did before. I’ve had her name on my phone notes for eighteen months, waiting and wishing that I would get to call her again.

  “All right, Indie, we will see you soon,” she says after a long conversation.

  I tap the red button, and a burst of emotion pumps through my veins. They have a room for my mum. I can take her now.

  “Hey, Mum,” I say.

  Her eyes are red when she looks over. “Am I going away?”

  I nod. “To Right Start Rehabilitation. It’s the one on the edge of the city. I spoke to Laura, and they have a room. They’ll help with the detox process, making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Then they’ll work on rebuilding your life, helping you stay away from alcohol in the future.”

  She takes a ragged breath. “I’m scared.”

  “I am, too, but if you do this, we can start over.”

  “Your dad… what about the funeral?”

  “I can visit you after the first week. We’ll talk about everything you want, and I’ll arrange it with the funeral director.”

  Lip trembling, she reaches out and brushes my hair. “T-That’s a lot on you.”

  I’m used to it.

  I take her and hold on tightly. “I’m happy to do it if it means you’re getting better. I need my mum.”

  I still really fucking need my mum.

  Although I was young, I still remember the parent she is capable of being. We were close back then. She always made me laugh, read my favourite books to me, sang and danced around the kitchen to crap pop music. She was kind and caring, and I never worried about a single thing.

  If we can have that back then going through the grief of losing Dad and organising his funeral alone will be worth it.

  “How are you so perfect after everything we’ve…?” Mum sobs, covering her mouth with her other hand.

  I shake my head. “Just get yourself better. Please.”

  “I will.” She nods, her eyes wide and determined. “I won’t let you down again.”

  Her words pour warmth onto my heart, nurturing the little girl locked inside. The one who was desperate for her parents to love her.

  Thirty-Two

  Indie

  My mum has a room in rehab. I’ve never been so happy when it comes to my mother. This is a massive step in the right direction.

  I stand by the door with my arms folded, leaning on the wall, watching her.

  Doctor Willis—Elliott, he’s insisted on being called—turns around from making sure Mum is comfortable. She’s exhausted.

  This isn’t a typical admission. I’ll have to cut contact for a week, though. After that, I’m allowed to call.

  I won’t tell her, but I’m terrified of doing this alone. I’ve wanted to live by myself for years. Now I get to, and it scares the hell out of me.

  “Are you ready, Indie?” Elliott asks.

  He’s talking about me leaving her in this little, clinical room. They’ve made it look nice with colourful prints on the walls and scatter cushions on the armchair, but it’s in a hospital facility, and her bedroom door will be locked. It smells like vanilla, as if they’re covering up the scent of the deep-cleaning products they use between patients. It’s not as comforting as Anya’s office.

  “I guess.”

  “All right. Is there anything else you need to know?”

  “No. I just want her to get better.”

  We’ve been here for ages going through the process, the rules, and Mum’s background. They’re going to organise grief counselling, too.

  I haven’t even told my own counsellor that Dad is gone yet. My next appointment isn’t for a little while. I’ve been too focused on Mum to even think about grieving for Dad. I will be gently telling my future patients how dangerous that is.

  “We’ll do everything we can for her here.”

  Elliott leads me back through the long corridors, towards the exit.

  “Can I call tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Of course. We’ll update you as often as you like, Indie. You won’t be able to speak to your mum until next week, though.”

  “I understand. Thank you for helping her.”

  He smiles. “We look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”

  We’ve probably taken up a lot more of his time than any other admission. Can’t blame the guy for wanting me gone.

  I step outside, and I pull the zip of my coat right up to my chin. The bitter wind stings my cheeks as I jog to my car. The damn thing doesn’t even have decent heating.

  Fumbling in my bag, I grab my keys before I unlock the door, and I drive home with a massive hole in my chest.

  I want to be curled up in Spencer’s arms. If I call him and ask him to come, he would have a lot of questions. I’d have to tell him everything. Then he would have more questions.

  It’s late by the time I get home, and after replying to texts from Spence, Wren and Mila, I make a quick bowl of pasta and sit at the kitchen table. I stab my fork into one of the pesto coated bows, and my stomach churns.

  The house is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. There’s not even a vodka bottle being opened. The silence is devastatingly beautiful. I both love and hate it.

  Sitting downstairs doing nothing is weird. I never spend time down here unless I’m cooking or cleaning. Most days, I eat in my room to avoid them. I feel like I should be doing something like checking on my parents, cleaning their mess, smuggling empty bottles in my boot so I can drive to the next town and to the recycling units, or hiding in my room with music loud enough to drown their arguing.

  There’s currently nothing to do. Nothing I can focus on.

  I don’t even know where to start with processing my
emotions.

  How can you be surprised by something you knew was coming?

  I’m so stupid.

  I drop my fork and push the bowl away. At some point, I’ll have to make myself eat, but not tonight. Dad is dead, Mum is gone, and I’m so lost, it terrifies me.

  The kitchen is tidy, the bathroom scrubbed, and there’s washing in the dryer. Nothing needs to be done. Except the living room. Going in there feels so wrong. It was Mum and Dad’s room. I have to make it look new before she comes home. She won’t want to see the place where Dad died looking exactly the same. I’ll make some calls, book decorators and a carpet fitter in.

  We both need a new beginning. I wish it could have been both of them getting sober, but I still have her, and I need to take it.

  Biting my lip, I dump the pasta in the bin, and I put the bowl and fork in the dishwasher. Maybe one day next month, when she’s hopefully home, we’ll sit around the kitchen table and eat pasta together. We’ll start again and I won’t throw the past in her face. I have another chance to have my mum.

  She might want to talk about it. She never has before. Even on the rare few sober days they had over the years, they never said sorry to me for the shouting, the way they spoke to me, or the fact that they were present but absent in every way that mattered. Not once has she acknowledged hitting me.

  I fill a glass of water to take it upstairs. Then I change into pyjamas, wash my face, and brush my teeth.

  My reflection is washed out, and my hair a knotty mess. I’ll sort it tomorrow.

  In bed, I unlock my phone and call Spencer.

  “Hey, babe,” he says with a smile to his voice.

  “Hi,” I whisper, trying to make my voice light.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. I just got into bed. What are you doing?”

  He laughs. “Lightweight. I’m out shopping.”

  “You are? Do you have sunglasses on?”

  “I’m in full disguise, wearing thick, black glasses and a huge nose.”

  I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling.

  “If you could actually get one of those and send me a picture, that would be great. So, you have no one with you?”

  “Jared, of course, but sunglasses and a cap are doing the job for now.”

  “I can’t wait until you have a proper big bouncer.”

  “Really? You just want to flirt with someone with insane muscles and no neck.”

  “You have muscles. I’ve seen them.”

  “I spend almost every day in the gym just for you.”

  “I knew it! You’re so obsessed with me.”

  If only he knew how obsessed I am with him. Without knowing it, he’s been the one thing to get me through living with two alcoholics. Spending time with him, texting him, and taking his phone calls have all kept me sane.

  When I’m with Spence, everything is okay.

  “Indie, you have no idea,” he says. “Anyway, can I call you later? I’m about to go into a shop and get my girlfriend’s Christmas present.”

  I feel a pang of sadness. Will Mum be here for Christmas? I’ll have to stay home in the morning so that Spencer and his family don’t question why I don’t want to be home. If she’s not back, I’ll spend Christmas morning alone, counting down the hours until I can go to Spencer’s.

  “Well, I hope it won’t be too much trouble getting a Tesla back to the UK.”

  “Hell, if you’re letting me replace that tin can you call a car then—”

  “No,” I cut him off. “Don’t you dare buy me a car. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He chuckles. “Later, Indie.”

  Thirty-Three

  Spencer

  Finally, I’m back in England, unlocking the front door to my parents’ house. I’ve been running lines non-stop, getting into character to the point where I almost forgot who Spencer Lowe is. I’ve been so absorbed by Wyatt Pike, but I’ve not missed a call or text to Indie. I won’t make that mistake again.

  “Mum? Dad?” I call, walking into the house and dumping my bag. It’s freezing here. I miss Californian weather already.

  Something clatters in the kitchen, and Mum comes bounding into the hallway. “Spencer, you’re home!”

  “The house looks like Santa’s grotto.”

  There are lights and decorations everywhere. I know she will have the usual three trees up. One in the living room, one in the dining room, and one in the kitchen. It even smells like cinnamon.

  “I got your dad to buy some more lights. It’s so festive. Now, come through.”

  “Wow, what’s happened in here?”

  The countertops are covered in flour. Two mixing bowls are stacked in the sink, and six baking trays sit beside the oven, holding star-shaped cookies.

  “I’m baking,” she tells me. “Where’s Indie? You didn’t pick her up?”

  I shake my head. “She still doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Spencer!”

  Laughing, I jump back to miss her playful slap. “You go and get her.”

  “She’s at uni, Mum. I was kind of hoping that you’d be able to get her over here.”

  “You do know that if you keep surprising her, she’s going to get frustrated with you.”

  I hold my palms up. “Twice, I’ve done it. This time it’s only because it’s Christmas.”

  “She thinks you’re back next week.”

  “Uh-huh. When are those going to be ready?”

  Shaking her head, she turns around and goes back to her baking. “Call her, Spencer.”

  “Invite her over, Mum.”

  “All right, all right. Would you like me and Dad to go out?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Let me rephrase. Would you like the house to yourself?”

  Frowning, I sit up on the one clean area on the worktop. “No,” I repeat.

  Yes. God, yes.

  Shoulders sagging, she replies, “Can you not take a hint? I want your dad to take me out.”

  “And you need me to kick you out of the house for that?”

  “We went out two nights ago. You know how he likes his evenings at home.”

  “Fine. Yes, please invite Indie over but be gone before she arrives.”

  Mum places her hand on her heart. “Of course, we’ll do that for our only child—our baby boy. By the way, if you make your own baby boy before Indie has finished uni, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “What if we have a girl?”

  Her eyes widen. “Spencer Jackson Lowe!”

  “No need to full name me. I was only joking. Neither of us want kids yet.”

  Jesus, children hasn’t even come up in a years-from-now conversation. I want them, though. Little versions of us running around, driving us up the wall.

  “All right, but don’t leave it too long, yeah?” She turns to her cookies and puts them in the oven.

  Mum reminds me a little of Mila.

  She’s been quiet the last two weeks. Indie took about six days to get over her sickness bug, and then she’s thrown herself back into catching up with her uni work. Mila has seen her twice and said she seems the same: a little distracted.

  Indie will be stressing that she’s behind and won’t graduate.

  That would never happen. She’ll finish at the top of her class. I’ve never met anyone as focused and determined as her.

  All of this means that I haven’t had the pleasure of as many phone calls.

  Wren and Mila know I’m home early, though. We’re going out with them next week, having Christmas dinner, since it’s almost mid-December and they have plans with family.

  Mum calls Indie and invites her over after uni. After that, she calls Dad to tell him to meet her at a local Italian restaurant when he’s finished work. What she doesn’t tell him is that she has booked tickets to the cinema as well.

  I don’t suspect she will until dessert.

  I’m waiting in the house for Indie to arrive. It’s late afternoon. Mum is out
shopping before dinner, and I’m alone. I should have gone straight to uni when I landed, but I don’t think she’d appreciate the fuss if people notice me. Also, I really need to be alone with her the second I see her. It’s been far too long.

  She’s due here any second. In my bag is the perfect gift for her. I wish it was the logbook to a new car, but she would be pissed off if I did that. I’ve bought her a platinum infinity necklace encrusted with fucking expensive diamonds. Besides my car, it’s the most extravagant thing I’ve bought.

  When we were younger, Indie would force me to watch the Toy Story Movies. I’m not talking younger like we were seven, either. We were teenagers, and she always said the line ‘to infinity and beyond’ along with the movie.

  It seems rather fitting.

  Now I have to wait until Christmas to give it to her.

  The doorbell rings a minute later.

  Rolling my eyes, I walk over. She picks now to ring and not just come in. Really?

  My heart thumps as I open the door and see the surprise in her beautiful dark eyes.

  Her mouth parts. “Spence,” she whispers.

  Last time I surprised her, she stood still like she’d been frozen in time. This time is nothing like that. Launching herself, she wraps her arms and legs around me.

  I catch her, laughing, and I breathe her in. “Hello, baby.”

  “Hollywood,” she sighs into my neck. Her voice is rough like gravel, as if seeing me is too much. Her legs hold me a fraction harder than is needed to stay up, and she breathes me in.

  “Fuck, I missed you,” I say, holding her tighter. She fits around me perfectly, like she was created with me in mind.

  “What?” I ask, stepping back and shutting the door when she doesn’t speak or move.

  She shakes her head, and that’s when I feel something damp against my skin.

  “You’re crying. Indie, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I missed you. I missed you so much, Spence.”